


Mistletoe Hung Where You Can See (At The Christmas Party Hop)

by Swing Set in December (swing_set13)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 05:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swing_set13/pseuds/Swing%20Set%20in%20December
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ain't no Christmas party like a Hale Industries' party because a Hale Industries' party is mandatory. So are Christmas sweaters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe Hung Where You Can See (At The Christmas Party Hop)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teamfreewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreewolf/gifts).



> For Emily, who wanted a Teen Wolf Christmas office party. I hope I didn't disappoint.

It's the annual Hale Industries' Christmas party. The company rented out the city's convention center's ballroom for the occasion. Everyone is here. There was a mandatory memo sent out. Stiles is well on his way to be tipsy. The eggnog is Lydia Martin’s very own festive blend. The recipe is renowned and R&D's best kept secret. Stiles knows he will regret tomorrow morning. Most definitely. Good thing the office is closed tomorrow. So he can wallow in his hangover and devour the greasiest breakfast he can concoct. 

Stiles thinks he’s drunk enough to dance, the reindeer headband on his head gives him that added dance skill he usually lacks. Maybe hit on Danny from IT again. He's definitely drunk enough not to notice anyone in front of him until he crashes into a solid frame.

His reindeer headband goes askew, crookedly on his head, an arm steadies him as he looks at the garish Christmas sweater in his view. It has bells. And lights. It’s very distracting.

“Shit,” he blurts out when he realizes belatedly that it’s the dark scowl of Derek Hale, managing director of acquisitions, wearing a Christmas sweater that could blind Santa himself. “I mean, Merry Christmas?”

Derek looks unimpressed. Well, as unimpressed someone can be in a sweater with it’s own light display.

“Watch where you’re going,” Derek says before adjusting his grip from Stiles’ arm to his shoulder to move him out of his way.

Stiles would protest more if he wasn’t drunk. And not distracted by Derek’s sweater. How someone can still pull off being that ridiculously good-looking in that monstrosity is Christmas miracle. Derek Hale does it with menacing grace. Stiles is grateful that he works in R&D and doesn't have to worry about being distracted by Derek in ridiculously tailored suits all day. Small favors. 

He’s half stumbled out of Derek’s way when junior vice president Laura Hale appears. Stiles wonders if this is how he’ll get fired. He'll have to move back to Beacon Hills and move back in with his dad. Probably have teach high school chemistry and end up just like old Mr. Harris, except with hair. Luckily male pattern baldness doesn't run in the Stilinski family tree. He has to quickly shake himself out of that morose mind hole to avoid having a drunken panic attack. Scott is supposed to be watching him and keeping him from making these bad career moves. And not be like that guy who made out with a plant at last year's summer barbeque. Stiles spots Scott spinning Allison from R&D around the dance floor on the other side of the room. He can't even begrudge his best friend that. Allison Argent is Scott's kryptonite.

“Gah,” Stiles manages, nearly sloshing the remaining third of his red Solo cup onto the floor. A miracle it didn’t end up on Derek or Laura.

“Derek! And-I don’t remember your name,” Laura frowns. She’s wearing an equally garish sweater. Her’s has wolves frolicking with candy canes. Like a glitter bomb exploded with tinsel. Somehow it works on her.

“Uhh-” Stiles thinks he should be silent. They can’t fire him if they don’t know who he is. It would be a Christmas miracle. 

“Stiles,” says Derek and Stiles’ eyebrows raise almost to Derek's unnatural levels of eyebrow movement. He’s not even under Derek. He flushes to an even ruddier shade of red. Not in a sexy bedroom bend at the knees sense. In a purely professional management sense. He reports to Morrell. Then Deaton. Probably. The company's echelon tree is very complicated. But still. He barely sees Derek. Unless Morrell delegates him to represent their department. It happens more often than Stiles would like. He bites through so many pens to stay awake during those departmental lead meetings. 

“Stiles,” Laura says with a dimpled smile, eyeing her brother curiously. “Well, since you two know each other, then you won’t mind upholding Christmas tradition.”

A camera materializing from behind her back. Like magic. 

“What,” Stiles begins but he notices that Derek hasn’t let go of his shoulder nor realized that he’s been corralled right under a sprig of mistletoe.

“Pucker up for the camera!” says Laura. Stiles is ready to argue with the senior vice president but Derek is already claiming his mouth for a kiss. It’s soft and chaste and over too quickly. Enough for him to be blinded by the flash.

Derek’s arm however, doesn’t let go.

“Is your sweater stuck in my antlers?” Stiles asks, he needs more eggnog for this. He licks his lips to chase the spiced flavor of cider Derek left. They're still barely inches apart. It's bordering on some serious closing talking right now.

“No,” Derek says tersely, his hand moving Stiles' waist. His ears reddening just as much as Stiles' face.

“Oh, just checking,” Stiles says before closing the distance between their lips. He could very much become addicted to the sweet taste of cider and eggnog.

Stiles thinks tomorrow will end with breakfast for two. And a lot of embarrassing photos on the company's Facebook page.


End file.
